Sting of the Mouth
by Amertalys
Summary: Poor Ciel is battling his way with anorexia. What'll become of him? Read to find out!


**This is my first ever fanfiction, guys! *Montage of children screaming in the background* Please go easy on my first-timer soul. If you come to the conclus****ion that my story sucks—well, I tried, goodbye now. ^-^ Thank you for your time. But if you so happen to enjoy this lousy piece of work…I love you****.**** I greatly appreciate it. You're the people I write for. ****And the people I love.**** But seriously, it would make my day if somebody enjoyed this story. If I could, I'd give you a cookie. Okay, okay, I need to shut up now, assuming you're still with me. Well, here it goes, I really hope you guys like it. Oh, and don't pay the disclaimer any mind, 'les you're trying to sue me or something. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Dear reader and/or copywriters, lawyers, etc., I promise I do not own Kuroshitsuji. If I did, I'd be living happily in Japan, drinking tea, spending my funds like there's no tomorrow, and creating beautiful and brilliant works. Oh, and I'd have a montage of fans making me feel all fuzzy and warm inside. But I leave that legendary role solely up to Yana Toboso, God Bless her holy soul. Oh, and let's not forget A-1 Pictures for producing such a masterpiece. ****I thank them both by praying to the shrine of them in my closet.**** The only things that are mine of this fanfiction are my words and plot.**

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Long, tired fingers running along puckered, tired ribs on an obscured, absent stomach that all belong to a broken, bereaved boy with a weak yet strong, hankered soul. His life drinks in irony and centers around the Devil's luck. Calamity seems to make up the color of his heart, with the help of the Moirai's acrimony. Miserable is how he spends most days, some to his thinking of being the last. On and off, he is. Being present in the room and then gone; only visible in another's eye. In a second—don't blink, oh no! You'll miss him. He'll leave as soon as he comes; recoiling behind Society's Mask. He is very good, you see, with putting up acts and walls and such. Barely anyone pays their time. Only close-tied loved ones, with experience and time on their sides, see something, yet, even them at times, see nothing at all. They're fooled. Deceived. Careful, he has to be! Hurting others with his own pain is a failure, a loss at his own twisted game. Therefore, he distances himself when not in control; when his mind's eye screams, "Check mate!" He is an angel blotted with dye. And like all dye, it seeps deeper, due permanent in time, spreading farther than intended. The color of this sullied dye is solely left up to you.

Chapter 1

It was early in the morning when the young Earl peeled open his eyes. Or late in the night, he didn't know. Just a minute ago he was peaceful, seemingly drowning in dreams that protect him from the horrors of his daily life. My, his blissful face in slumber might put a smile on even a demon's face. (a/n. *wink) What could possibly awaken the boy in such an endearing act? Why, the own problems of the boy himself.

Pang, pang, pang. A stab after another. Pulling him from his blank dream state, prying back his pale eyelids. With a groan, he sat up, slowly. He sat there, looking around, getting a hold of his surroundings, almost as if he didn't recall where he was—temporarily, of course. His bearings came back to him in less than a minute's time. The room, his bedroom, was perfect. Not a speck of dust in sight, the only thing unkempt being the bed. So bland, it was. Even the pale light filing in through the transparent blue curtains provided no source of interest for the eye. He took notice that his bound demon was nowhere within sight. Just what he wanted. One foot over the bed, then another. Checking first to make sure his frail ankles could hold his frail frame, he stood up. Hurriedly, he made his way to the restroom, wasting no time. Silently opening the door so no squeak was heard, he slipped his way in, closing and locking the door behind him. Turning on the faucet to full blast, he kneeled down and opened the toilet lid. Immediately he started heaving in it, close to hacking his insides out. Emptying his stomach, he cursed out the demon. It must have been that stupid French dessert Sebastian forced down his throat last night. Without eating anything substantial in a couple days worth, his butler shoved it into Ciel's mouth after discarding yet another untouched platter of food serving as dinner. Sebastian even went to the lengths of holding the boy's mouth and nose shut 'til he swallowed the flakey pastry.

Wiping his mouth after he was convinced he was hollow, he pushed himself up and flushed the toilet. A grimace was still covering his face, still cursing out his butler.

'_Damned Demon_,' he thought.

Going over to the mirror, he pulled up his flannel, sleepwear shirt. In such a simple action, his deep dark secret was revealed, being obvious to anyone's eye. What you saw was unnatural—scary to some. But in the boy's eyes, you saw how _he _saw the nature of his ways. He thought this was a path towards beauty. Towards total control. Towards being perfect, being the best! But you also saw what he felt. For this was not enough. More, he had to do it more. He thought himself weak for only being able to go a couple days without anything. He did not take into consideration that a couple of days was actually three, and that his consuming of food was literally forced. Nor did he realize that where ever he wanted to "be," he was already there! How much thinner and this tinny frame go? One could think it literally impossible. Poor Ciel's eyes were clouded, feverish even, and hurt. He hated his reflection. He needed to be thinner, much thinner, for him to be satisfied, he thought.

'_More, I need to be stronger! How could I be so weak? Stronger, stronger, stronger…_'

And with that, he pulled his shirt down, turned off the faucet, slipped through the door, and slipped into bed. Looking around still with no sight of Sebastian, he pulled the covers over his head. He just laid there until sleep overtook him yet again, relieving him from his empty pangs.

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**Eh? How was the first chappy, guys? Rate&Review if ya want. ****I'd love you forever****. Tell me what you think, though, to our Negative Nancys, you best keep that to yourself. I'll update as soon as I can, slap me if I don't. ****Okay, okay, maybe no slapping****. Thank you for giving my story and I a shot.**


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